The Cure
by Phx
Summary: Sam is cured. Problem is, he was never sick... First appeared in Blood Brothers 3.
1. Chapter 1

_Originally appeared in the Blood Brothers 3 Zine. _

**The Cure**

**Chapter 1**

"You have got to be kidding me!" a very indignant Dean Winchester scoffed as a beautiful brunette with long legs and curves that screamed 'I'm noisy in bed' passed by him and practically molested his younger brother with her eyes. Wanton bitch even licked her lips! Sam, for his part, blushed furiously and flashed a quick dimpled grin at her attention, always playing the shy boy and this woman was totally sucking it up. "What the hell? She blind?"

Sam pushed him further into the bar, maneuvering the still protesting Dean towards a table in the back. The brunette's gaze followed them, well _Sam_ actually. "I don't get it." He raised an arm and did a quick sniff. "Do I smell?"

"Dean," his brother rolled his eyes and then indicated towards a chair, "Sit." Without waiting to see if Dean actually complied, Sam was gone, heading through the haze and towards the counter of the only bar of whatever-the-hell named town they were in. Dean couldn't remember the name and honestly couldn't give a damn. They weren't on a job, on the way to a job, or even thinking about a job. Just two bros hanging out and taking it easy for a day or two before they headed to Bobby Singer's to help him with his roof.

He shook his head in wonderment at that. They were hunters god-damnit, not roofers. However Bobby's place had leaks. One particularly nasty one had woken Dean up thinking he'd pissed his bed the last time they'd stayed there and Sam, bleeding heart suck up that he was, promised they'd give Bobby a hand to repair it before the rainy season set in. The older hunter lived in South Dakota for cripes sake, Dean wasn't even sure they had a rainy season. But here they were, in between hunts, no missing limbs or broken bones to lay them up, and on their way to do manual labor. Actual work. Yay. Whoopee. Dean was oozing with excitement. If it wasn't for the fact that they were doing this for _Bobby_, he'd be tempted to feign malaria or something just to get out of it.

And now the only hot chick in this whole damn place was following his little brother around like Sam was the second coming. Dean's manhood was insulted. Sure the kid getting a bit could only improve his less than sunny disposition but did it have to be with the only looker in the place? Where were all the ugly chicks?

A potbellied farmer with no teeth and even less hair caught Dean's eye and gave him a gummy grin. Dean sank further down in his chair and hoped to God his brother brought back something a hell of a lot stronger than beer.

"Hey," a _beer_ clunked down on the table in front of him. Dean scowled. Sam ignored him. "So I was thinking-"

"That's never a good thing," the older hunter interrupted peevishly as he picked up the bottle and swallowed back a large mouthful.

"What's the matter with you?"

His surliness hadn't gone unnoticed but it wasn't fair either, so Dean exhaled loudly and tried to make nice. It wasn't Sam's fault that some girl had bad taste when Dean really could have used a little female company tonight. Maybe getting a bit wouldn't only be beneficial to his sibling. "Nothing." Not much better but at least this time he only sounded petulant.

Sam eyed him knowingly and Dean fought to keep from reaching across the table and punching him out. He hated that look. The one that said '_I know there's something bugging you and I'm going to keep staring at you until you break down and emotionally bleed out all over the dirty table in this public place'_. God, he hated his brother sometimes.

"Okay, fine, you really want to know?" He straightened up in his seat, sudden unexpected anger lowering his tone and tightening his mouth. "I really hate how we always got to do what you want to do." Okay, so he sounded about five and it wasn't really true but Dean was in a foul mood and Sam had insisted on him sharing.

"Huh?" Sam stared at him probably as shocked by Dean's accusation as Dean was.

"You heard me." Motor-mouth was off and running and he found himself wondering when he'd become possessed by a pissed off house wife. "We never get to do what _I_ want to do. It's always the jobs _you_ pick, the places _you_ want to go, where _you_ want to eat -"

"Dean," Sam, God bless him, tried to interrupt. "You drive-"

"While you bitch and nag all the way." Dean snorted. "I swear Sam, keeping you happy is more work then any girlfriend."

Hurt flashed across Sam's face. "How would you know?" His brother snapped in defensive anger. "You've never had one!"

Dean stiffened but Sam was finished and fired off a parting barb before he got up from the table and headed back towards the bar. "_Girlfriend_ implies more than a one night stand, asshole."

As he watched his brother just walk away Dean closed his eyes and let his chin drop to his chest. What the hell had just happened? He wasn't really pissed off with Sam, he was just in a black mood and Sam was there, knowing him too well and expecting an answer, but sometimes Dean just wanted to be left alone to stew. _'Well, 'asshole'_,' he mentally berated, '_looks like you got what you wanted.'_ He briefly wondered why he'd even agreed to go out.

Shoving his chair away from the table, Dean got up and left the bar. He'd apologize to Sam in the morning by letting the kid sleep in. But for tonight it would probably be better for everyone concerned if he just went home. Or, in his case, back to the cheap little run-down dive of a motel room they'd rented for a night.

Sam would understand. He always did.

* * *

Sam had no idea what had just happened. Sure Dean had been a bit quieter than usual tonight but nothing to suggest he was _that_ upset. It happened from time to time, unexpected blowups, usually about stupid things just because they were two alpha males sharing the same living, work and play places 24/7, but usually Sam got some inkling of impending trouble before it just happened. And yes, his brother had been under a lot of stress lately but – really? Was Dean that angry with him? And about what? Voicing his opinion? Sam let out a slow exhale as he grabbed an empty stool by the bar and sat down placing his almost full beer on the counter in front of him. This was not exactly how he'd planned on spending the evening. Actually he'd been naively looking forward to just hanging with Dean. Just two bros, no jobs, no huge need to earn cash thanks to an actual paying gig last time, just hanging out. And then Dean went all mad-face on him.

Sighing again, the young hunter glanced back towards the table, unsurprised to see his brother gone. Patented angry Dean retreat tactic. Shaking his head, he faced forward again, lifted the bottle to his lips and sucked back a long drink knowing Dean'd eventually turn up back at the motel and they'd sweep this evening under the rug like everything else and move on. There just wasn't enough room in the Impala to keep everything.

"Hey there," the sultry voice almost in his ear made Sam jump. "D'you mind if I sit here?" It was the brunette and she wasn't taking no for an answer practically pushing the guy who'd been sitting next to Sam off his chair. The guy shot her a dirty look but moved anyway. Sam was impressed.

"Apparently not," he gave her an amused little smile not used to girls being so forward. He usually attracted the quieter, shy type. Well shy 'til he got them in bed. _'Oh God,_' he blushed furiously, did he actually just think that? _'I'm channeling Dean!' _

"You're blushing?" the woman cooed as she leaned in even closer, twining her fingers playfully through a thin golden chain that hung from her neck. Sam absently noticed the pretty red gem at the end of the chain, icicle like in shape it caught his attention for a moment, "that's so cute!" She glanced around. "Where's your friend?"

"Who, Dean?" Sam shook his head, pulling his eyes from the stone and shrugged, "Gone back to our room."

"Your room?" an odd look passed over the woman's face. "I'm sorry, I-"

"It's okay," he assured her not wanting to let her think he and Dean were, ah, an item. "He's my brother."

"Oh," she perked up, "That's good. So," she brushed her lips against his cheekbone and whispered, "What say we cut to the chase and just go right back to my room for a bit? I have black sheets on my bed."

Shivering, Sam swallowed hard. Oh God. It _had_ been a while, a long while and she had _black sheets_ – but then he thought about his obviously bothered brother probably back in the motel room by now glaring holes into the defenseless black and white television set, and deflated. Family first… and while Dean left him on occasion for an all nighter, that wasn't Sam's M.O and the last thing he wanted, on top of apparently annoying the shit out of Dean with his every breath, was for his brother to get worried if Sam didn't follow him back soon. _That_ would just end up embarrassing as Dean busted down the door and caught him, literally, with his pants down. It wouldn't be the first time unfortunately, but Sam had learned and it had only happened, twice.

"Look… while I really do appreciate the offer, I do… I can't. I really can't," he didn't want her to think she wasn't attractive 'cause she was and, Oh God the sheets were probably silk too, _that_ wasn't the problem. "It's not you. Believe me. It's not you… It's me." _Smooth, Sammy, real smooth._ "I just," he glanced over his shoulder towards the door he knew Dean had left gone out of and then gave her a half shrug, "I just kinda got some other things I need to take care of tonight, you know?"

Eyes so dark they were black in the smoky lighting followed his gaze to the door and back again. Something cold settled over her face and she pulled back from him. "Oh, I get it." Sultry turned vicious and Sam found himself wincing. "Should have seen it from a mile away." She snorted and tossed her long black hair, "Your _brother_? Yeah, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, big boy. You know? There's a special place in hell for people like you!" Without another word, the woman was gone leaving Sam stunned and speechless. Was he sending out '_I piss people off tonight'_ vibes? Because between Dean and this girl, he was seriously starting to wonder if _he_ smelled.

Slumping further against the bar, Sam closed his eyes and rubbed a finger against the bridge of his nose. If he didn't end up with a tension headache before the night was over, he'd be buying lotto tickets.

* * *

Sam finished his beer slowly. Not really wanting it but since he'd already paid for it, too stubborn to leave it behind either. He really was his father's son. The voices around him didn't matter as he tried to piece together what might have set Dean off, finally deciding there was only one person who could answer that and that person had already gone home for the night and had probably sewn the crotches of Sam's underwear together by now.

And how unusual was it for Sam to be the last one still out on the town?

'_Oh well_,' he mused, _'there's always a first.'_ Deciding that he'd had enough 'fun' for one evening though, the young man pushed away from the bar and stood up. He'd just hit the head and then call it a night, after all he had a television to save and who knew, maybe there'd even be something good on it worth watching. A good flick might serve a better, amicable brotherly evening then this poorly planned bar excursion.

On his way back from the bathroom, the woman suddenly appeared by his side again. She held out a full beer and gave him a sheepish look. "Peace offering?"

Sam hesitated and then took the drink.

"I'm really sorry," she admitted, her face in such contrast to the angry one of earlier, "I'm just not very good with rejection." She gave a shy smile. "Whatever the reason. Please," the woman indicated a table, "let's try this again."

Again, Sam hesitated and then decided what could be the harm of another half an hour especially when space was what Dean seemed to need. He gave a quick nod, "Okay," and followed her towards the table.

An hour later Sam was enjoying himself. Now that she wasn't trying to get him in her bed, the girl turned out to be witty, funny, and came from a very large family which Sam found fascinating especially as she regaled him with tales that had him cringing and thanking a God his brother didn't believe in, that he only had Dean.

Speaking of Dean, Sam realized he really should be leaving. Saying his good-byes, he noticed how quiet she'd became, her dark eyes just watching him and it started to creep him out. With a final 'it's been fun,' he stood and then dropped back down in the seat as a wave of dizziness spun the bar around on him. "Whoa," he tried to shake it off, his alarm growing as lassitude swept over him and he knew something was wrong. Sure, he wasn't the drinker his brother or father was, but surely Sam could handle two beers. Two freakin' beers. But as the girl's face swam in and out of focus, a horrifying reality slammed into him. He wasn't drunk. He'd been drugged.

"You," he slurred as he raised a heavy arm to point at her, "Wh'd ya do?"

The woman smirked, her eyes moving to some place behind him. Sam didn't have to turn to know someone was behind him. She wasn't in this alone. Whatever _this_ was.

Twenty-two years of instinct and training slammed adrenaline through his veins and Sam was on his feet and met the threat with shocking lucidity. Dean would be so proud. Three guys, homegrown locals with pool sticks and sick smiles closed in. _A definite 'I piss people off vibe' then…_

Grabbing his chair, Sam swung it at them, his bold defense scattering and momentarily stunning the other guys. Unfortunately it didn't last long and as Sam continued to use the chair, alternating using it as a shield and battering ram, he knew he needed to get out of the bar and get away. Without anyone – _Dean_ – to watch his back, and as whatever they'd drugged him with slowly overpowered the adrenaline rush, he knew it was only a matter of time before he went down. And Sam really preferred _not_ to find out what they had planned for him.

Two more guys joined in – geez was the whole bar in on this? – trying to corral the young hunter but in the end it was the drugs that took him down, crashing his long body to his knees just outside the bar doorway, and as something slammed against the back of his head and he fell face first onto the gravel, Sam had one final fleeting thought. _Dean…_

* * *

Dean was not very happy. The black mood that had settled over him earlier that night had fully mutated into something way past pissed as he stared down in disbelief at his now completely soaked jeans and shirt, the can of beer he'd just opened having apparently shook itself up in anticipation of an unsuspecting Dean Winchester needing a drink when he got back to the motel.

"Great," the incensed hunter growled as he stalked to the bathroom to drop the still fizzing can into the sink then flinging his hands dramatically to get some of the wetness off them, "Just freakin' great. What else can go wrong tonight?" Dean savagely stripped off his shirt and jeans and flung them into the bathtub, his nose already crinkling at the smell. Wonderful, the place was going to reek like a brewery now. Scowling and cursing vehemently under his breath, the man briefly considered getting dressed again but then decided the safest thing might be for him to just go to bed.

Scrubbing a hand through his cropped hair, Dean stood in the bathroom doorway for a moment then exhaled loudly and crossed to his bed, scowling harder when he stepped right into a wet spot. _Just swell._ Cursing loudly, he sat on the edge of the bed and glared at the clock, half expecting Sam to have followed him back by now. Not that his brother had to of course, or anything, but still… that would be so _Sam_. The agitated man huffed bitterly as he leaned over to pluck off his beer-drenched socks, it might be in Sam's best interest to actually stay out a bit longer tonight. And as a loud crack was the only warning Dean got before the bed frame broke dumping him unceremoniously on the floor, he was suddenly sure of it.

* * *

Sam had no idea how long he was awake before he realized he was awake. Consciousness just suddenly seemed to bloom, instantly tossing him back to reality with a head full of cotton and a body feeling like lead. Confused and unsure of what was going on, he called out for the one person who could always make sense of things for him, his brother.

"D-Dean?" the strained croaked word unnerved Sam and he fought harder to try to understand. Why did he feel so weak? Why couldn't he move his arms? Slowly and with great effort, the hunter was able to lift his head and realized what some of the problem was, he was tied sitting up in a hard back chair.

Oh.

Blinking hard, he forced his eyes to focus, his breathing quickening as he saw he was alone. What was going on? Then memory slammed into him, brutal and in frightening color – he'd been drugged and kidnapped. But why? What'd he and Dean do this time? They hadn't been in town long enough to piss anyone off… had they?

Sam still couldn't think very well, the drugs probably, but he remembered the girl – was she really that angry that he hadn't wanted to go home with her? Scrunching up his face in disdain, he snorted softly as he turned his attention to the thick rope stretched across his chest, pinning him to the chair and muttered, "Black sheets, my ass." His wrists were bound behind the chair by a thinner rope but his legs weren't restrained. That was something at least.

Flexing his wrists to try and loosen the rope, Sam took a closer look around. The room he was being held in was actually a small wooden shed, an older one and not very well maintained, he guessed, as he caught glimpses of the outside through gaps in the wood and felt the cool dampness of passing air on his skin. He shivered slightly. It was light, but the day was grey and wet. Continuing to struggle with his bonds, Sam wondered if Dean realized he was missing yet.

He wanted to yell for help but wasn't ready to let his captors know he was awake either, although as he was left un-gagged and could hear nothing beyond birds and rustling leaves, he wasn't getting a good feeling about anyone _helpful_ hearing. The silence was telling. Hell, if someone started playing 'dueling banjoes' any moment, Sam didn't think he'd be surprised. Freaked? Yes. Surprised? No.

And then he heard the sound of crunching gravel. Someone was coming to see him. More crunching gravel. More than one person then.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the awesome response. I will try to get all the wonderful reviews responded to, but in the meantime here is the second part.

**The Cure**

**Chapter 2**

Something woke Dean. For a moment the hunter lay tense on his brother's bed as a prickle of unease shivered at the back of his neck. Listening carefully, he controlled his breathing and waited, but he heard nothing else and after a few moments, he let himself relax. Sitting up slowly, he scanned the room. Weapons bag? Check. Broken bed? Check. He wrinkled his nose. Stinky beer smell? Double check. And then he frowned at what he didn't see.

"Sam?"

* * *

Sam tensed when the door opened and the three men from the night before strode into the shed. The first guy, a pale faced skinhead, reached up and pulled on a string, bathing the room in a dim light. "What do you want?" the hunter demanded, his voice sounding stronger than before.

"Want?" the woman's voice surprised him. He hadn't seen her come in. "We don't want anything." She moved from behind the men to stand in front of them.

The hunter snorted. "Sure, that's why I'm sleeping sitting up."

"Better than sleeping six feet under," the second guy, a huge man with 'Tiny' tattooed on his ham sized fist grunted and Sam had to admit the guy had a point. The third guy, nondescript at best, just watched. Sam dubbed him the Gray Man.

Ignoring the guys, Sam focused on the woman, Rita? Robin? Rachel, she seemed to be in charge. "What do you want?" he repeated as he continued to twist against his bindings, careful to keep his movements hidden.

"We want to save you -"

Save him? Sam was confused. He wasn't aware that there was anything in town that he needed saving from, except maybe this crowd.

Rachel smiled sweetly, "- from yourself."

"From myself?" unease sizzled hotly and Sam doubled his efforts to get his wrists undone. The skin was burned raw from the friction but he kept twisting. "What?" he chuckled mirthlessly, "This some sort of intervention or something? 'Cause I'm sorry to disappoint y'all and everything but I'm not addicted… to anything."

Rachel stood in front of him, her dark eyes appraising him coldly – was this really the same woman from last night? Shit, why didn't he just leave with Dean? "Not sure if 'addiction' is quite the word I'd use, but I've heard it called worse."

His brow furrowed with confusion, he looked at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You. And your _brother_," the way she said 'brother' made his skin crawl. "What you guys do. Alone in your room. At night."

Comprehension bleached his face and Sam started to shake his head, his struggles to get loose horrified. "Whoa! Wait! You think – me? And Dean?" sure they'd been mistaken for a 'couple' before but this was ridiculous, "he's my _brother_, lady, and only my brother." Dean would be beyond pissed if he was here, about a lot of stuff, "And what we do? In our rooms? Is sleep! You can't be serious!"

Rachel ignored him as she turned towards her pals. "Wow," she mocked hitching a thumb back towards Sam. "First time we've heard that one, isn't it, boys?"

A chorus of affirmations had Sam huffing in annoyance, starting to get really pissed off now. "Is this what this is all about? You think I'm _gay?_ What, you hear my brother – and yes boys and girl, he is my brother – call me a 'bitch' and that makes me one? Well in that case, you're-"

A hard backhand rocked Sam's head back as Tiny loomed over him, both fists clenched in anger.

"You be careful now what you say, _faggot_, you're only alive 'cause we ain't killed ya yet!"

Rachel put a restraining hand on Tiny's bunched biceps and purred, "Easy, boy, let's not get too hasty… We haven't had to kill anyone in a while."

Tiny stepped back but his eyes, beady and piercing with anger, promised pain. Sam met the gaze, thanking his father for being the bastard he was in the way he'd trained his boys. Dean would have seen the hint of fear that flickered in Sam's gaze, but all Tiny saw was anything else. Skinhead grinned at Sam while the Gray Man continued to watch.

"I'm. Not. Gay," Sam reiterated and then added, "But even if I were, that doesn't give you any right-"

"Rights?" Tiny's leash wasn't short enough and he'd moved in on Sam again. "Queers aint' got no rights!"

The hunter just stared at him. "I'm sorry," the words tumbled off his lips, too much Dean's brother to just shut up, "This is America. _Everyone_ has rights." Seeing the fist coming, didn't really help and this time he blacked out briefly. When he regained his senses, Rachel was running her fingers through his hair. Repulsed, Sam jerked away, his gaze once again momentarily captured by the black stone around her neck. Wasn't it red last night?

"Such pretty hair…," she smiled at him daring him to do something as she continued fingering his dark locks, pulling his attention away from the jewelry, "for a boy."

"Yeah," Skinhead leered. "Betcha all your boyfriends like it." He flicked his tongue over his lips. "I like it. I like hair… a lot." The irony was not lost on Sam and he just stared at the bald man, his mouth suddenly dry.

Rachel glanced at her friend for a moment as she tugged at the hair curled against the nape of Sam's neck. "You want it?"

"Don't!" Sam barked, and twisted at the bindings harder, no longer caring if they saw the attempt or if he sprained his wrists but the rope didn't give. Whoever had tied him knew what they were doing. "Don't touch me."

"Touch you?" the woman scoffed as she grabbed the top of his hair and yanked his head back, she lowered her lips to his ear and whispered, _"By the time we're done with you, you'll be begging for me to touch you."_ Letting him go roughly, she moved back, her dark gaze holding his. "But don't worry, Sammy, we only have your best interests at heart. See we understand that what you have is a sickness… a _disease._ Something that you've been infected with… but… lucky for you..." She smiled widely and spread her arms out wide, "we have the cure."

"_A cure?_" Was this broad nuts? Sam internally huffed. Well, duh.

"By the time we're done with you," Rachel promised, "you won't be gay anymore!"

Adrenaline fired through Sam as Rachel's 'boys' moved towards him, their faces twisted with eagerness. He kicked out, his long legs powerful and lethal, catching Skinhead solidly in the midsection and hearing a satisfying crack as Tiny and the Gray Man jumped back. Still bound to the chair, Sam pushed to his feet then swung the chair towards his assailants. _Thank God for chairs._

Tiny, cursing loudly as one of his beefy arms shot out to protect Rachel, almost tripped over his downed buddy as the Gray Man pulled a knife.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted as he edged towards the door, both hampered and protected by the chair. Rachel watched from the side, her arms folded across her chest, the expression on her face clearly un-amused. But that was okay because Sam wasn't so amused himself. Faking a lunge at the Gray Man and kicking out at Tiny, the hunter levered back around and slammed the chair against the wall, hard. The wood splintered and he shucked off the rope around his chest. Time to get out of here.

Slamming through the door, Sam stumbled for a moment, his hands still bound behind him, but recovered and started to run down a gravel path. He got to the very edge of a road when a large body plowed into him and Sam went down under Tiny's sizable girth, the wind knocked out of him. He was yanked onto his back and before he could recover a huge fist slammed into his face. And then again. And again. And again.

The world grayed, blood filled the back of his throat. This was it. They were going to beat him to death. But then as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Sam barely noticed when Tiny got off him. Someone was talking to him, he heard whispers of words but none of them made sense as rough hands grabbed him and dragged him up. He knew he was supposed to be doing something but he couldn't think past one word, Dean.

Dean.

Dean.

But Dean wasn't coming.

And then Rachel was whispering something in his ear and Sam's eyes rolled back into his head.

* * *

No one would admit seeing Sam and that pissed Dean off. In small towns like this strangers stood out. They were watched with suspicion, so the idea that _no one_ remembered a giant one with floppy hair and dimples was enough to set alarm bells off. They were hiding something from him. He just wasn't sure what. So that left the girl. There was no way in hell she could deny seeing Sam last night but again no one would tell him where he could find her either. Ooh they all knew who he was talking about, he saw it in their eyes – as if the most beautiful woman in the room wasn't known – but still they shook their heads and wished him luck.

Frustration warred with anger and fear.

Standing outside the bar, Dean glanced up and down the almost empty street. "Where the hell are you, Sammy?" he whispered then started back towards his motel. Maybe Sam had come back…

Yeah, maybe.

_

* * *

_

Three Days Later:

Sam had been missing for three days and Dean was no closer to finding him now than before. He was frustrated, exhausted and terrified, a combination that made him dangerous. The only problem was he had no idea who to lash out at, the whole freakin' town was full of suspects. He toyed with the idea of just burning the hellhole to the ground but until he found his brother, he couldn't take the risk. But once Sam was home, safe and sound or at the very least, breathing, all bets were off.

What Dean had managed to find out since his brother had disappeared sickened him. People, no not people, _guys_ disappeared all the time, young guys like Sam, while a string of horribly mutilated John Does rented space in the morgue, yet the local lawmen just shook their heads and insisted there was no connection. They were adamant that there was no problem in their small town. The denial was dizzying. How this place had stayed under hunting radar, he had no idea and when he thought about what might have happened to Sam ... No, not his brother. He'd find Sam. _He would._ He just had no idea how. Not when lips were sealed so tight it was like they were sewn together.

Exhaling deeply, Dean sank down to the edge of what should have been _Sam's_ bed and reached for the cell phone recharging on the nightstand. He hadn't even bothered to tell the front desk about the broken bed or beer stained carpet yet just growled at them to keep housekeeping the hell away.

It was time to call Bobby. After finding out about Sam's disappearance, the older man had insisted on Dean checking in with him every evening. He'd wanted to come, but the obstinate younger man brushed him off assuring Bobby Sam'd be back before Bobby could get there anyway. Now Dean was really beginning to regret not accepting the help. He just found it hard to get used to needing other people when it came to things 'Sam', even if he knew the gruff older man was worried about his brother too. Besides, Dean really did think Sam would be back by now.

"Hey, Bobby," he greeted as soon as the other man answered. "I'm not disappeared yet."

A soft snort and Dean was sure he heard the man shoving the ballcap up on his forehead to scratch at dry skin. _"Apparently… nothing yet?"_

Dean leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees as the weight of the search threatened to shove him to the floor. "I dunno, Bobby. I just… dunno. It's like there's lot of stuff… and nothing." He didn't expect the other man to say anything and continued after another moment. "Guys keep disappearing though… it's been going on for a while. Most come back after a couple of days, don't say a word to nobody 'bout where they've been, then move on. But then there's others… and a list of John Doe's as long as my arm."

_"John Doe's?"_

"Yeah… "

_"Dean?"_

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face, it was shaking. "Every now and then, a body shows up. Just out of the blue. And… it's not pretty, Bobby. It was like they were… just… shredded… I – oh God…" the hunter closed his eyes. He'd seen some horrific things in his life but there were just some things he'd never get used to, and seeing men torn up like that was one of them. And Sam was still missing. He whispered. "It's bad."

Bobby didn't press, _"But not Sam."_ It wasn't a question and Dean loved the man for not asking, unsure he could handle even a moment of that visualization.

"Yeah and-" Something soft scratched against the door and Dean was on his feet and armed. "Hold on," he whispered, dropped the phone on the bed and was across the room and had the door yanked open before Bobby could respond.

Nothing. There was no one there. Stepping outside into the cool night, Dean cocked his head to listen, his keen gaze doing a thorough sweep of the parking lot. But nothing. It was empty save the Impala and one other car. The sound of a leaf crinkling across the pavement sent a chill creeping down his neck as his every sense whispered that something had been there. Or someone.

The lingering scent of perfume hardened the lines on his face. The girl.

Remembering Bobby, Dean turned to go back into the room, then froze. There taped to the outside of his motel room door was an envelope. A white non-descript envelope with one line of writing on the outside. _7764 Havershire Lane._

Looking around again and still not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he plucked the message from the door and went back in his room. Closing himself off from the outside world, Dean took the envelope to the bed, leaned down and grabbed the phone. There was something inside the paper. "Had a visitor," he told Bobby as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could talk and open the lip. "Left me an envelope with an address."

_"Anything inside?"_

Carefully unsealing it, Dean opened the mail and then frowned. "What the-?"

_"Dean?"_

Sifting his fingers through the contents, the hunter felt bile rise to the back of his throat. He knew exactly what it was. Horrified, he barely gasped out, "Hair, Bobby, it's Sammy's hair!" before he dropped the envelope and made a dive for the toilet.

* * *

"Havershire Lane. Havershire Lane," Dean muttered as he peered through the front windshield at the badly marked road signs, briefly illuminated in the Impala's headlights, "Where the hell is Havershire Lane?" He just knew that was where he'd find Sam. What kind of shape his brother would be in was another thing though. Fear ate at Dean's insides and he fought to keep it in check, unable to afford the luxury of a panic attack right now, or to give into the wave of despair that kept threatening him with 'he's dead, he's dead, he's dead.' Dean would give up on himself first before he'd give up on his brother. That was just how it worked. "A-ha!" he cried out, triumphant, when he finally saw the marker for Havershire Lane. Making the right, he let out a low whistle of appreciation at the suffocating desolation of the road. There were no streetlights and very few homes that he could see, the few that he passed appeared more as small cabins on large, untamed plots of land, the road itself more a gravel path than anything else. A very good place, Dean decided, to keep someone.

7764 was even set further back from the road then its nearest neighbor's, a mile away.

Dean idled the car at the foot of a gravel driveway for a few minutes uncertain, now that he was here, how to proceed. It could very obviously be a trap. That had been Bobby's first concern. But even if it was, what choice did Dean really have? He couldn't wait for the other man to back him up, not without knowing whether or not his brother could afford the delay, and even Bobby realized that, merely wringing a promise out of Dean to 'try not to get yer self killed', then wished him luck and said he'd be there as quick as he could. Oddly enough knowing that Bobby would be in the morning did help. Now he just had to get Sam.

Deciding that stealth would be wasted, Dean rumbled the car up the lane towards the outline of a house. There were no lights on or any other sign that anyone had been here in a while. "Geez," he griped for the sake of company, "You'd think they'd have set out a welcome mat for me or something." Parking at the side, the hunter saw the outline of a smaller building further back and to the side. A shed maybe.

As the hair rose on the back of his neck, Dean grabbed the Glock from the seat beside him, _Sammy's spot_, steeled his nerves and got out of the car. It was hunting time.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Next chapter is up early because I have to work late. I am glad you are enjoying the story. Reunion time!

**The Cure**

**Chapter 3**

A familiar growl roused Sam. He shivered as he lay bound and gagged on the cold, dirt floor and tried to think what it meant. The rumble got close enough for him to practically feel it vibrating through his body. It helped clear his mind a bit and he knew. _Dean._

A traitorous tear burned a path through the grime on his chilled cheek, and Sam whimpered against the foul gag. His brother was there to bring him home.

* * *

Dean searched the house first. It was really just a sparsely furnished cabin with a humming generator for power. There was little food in the fridge, only a moldy half loaf of bread and a couple of bottles of water. The place reeked of piss, beer, and sex, with brown glass crunching underfoot and a soiled mattress in the corner of the main room. "Lovely," Dean muttered as his flashlight paused on the mattress for a moment before continuing around the room. "Just freakin' lovely." He swallowed back a sharp slice of panic at the thought Sam might be there. Then a large brown rat scurried across the room and Dean did freak out. If only Sam had been there to witness it…

* * *

The house was a bust. Besides aging him about ten years and giving his heart a wonderful vermin-infested workout, it had been a total waste of time. Sam wasn't there, and Dean got the feeling his brother never had been. Thank God.

So that left the shed.

He stalked toward the old building, wanting something to happen, someone to know he was there and _do_ something. All this silence and darkness was unnerving, and his body screamed for an outlet.

The shed door was unlocked, so Dean wrenched it open, then reached up to grab the swinging rope for the light when it struck him in the face. One sharp tug, a burst of brightness…and he stood there in disbelief.

* * *

The sound of gravel crunching spiked terror through Sam's heart; his tormentors were back. _No_. _No more. I can't take any more. Please…_

He heard the sound of the door creak open, then cringed as the light flicked on.

A sharp intake of breath and softly gasped, "Sammy?" had him forcing his eyes open. His vision was watery at best, but he didn't need to see to know who was crouching down next to him. _Dean_. Then his brother reached out and tugged the gag from his mouth, and Sam screamed.

* * *

Dean's mind, for one moment, was unable to reconcile the image of the boxer-clad, bound and gagged, distressed young man lying on his side in the dirt, with the memories of his strong, willful brother from just three days ago. But he'd know his brother anywhere. Dean sucked in a weighted breath and let it whoosh out a moment later in one word: "Sammy?" Then he was moving to his brother, desperate to start fixing this, right now.

He gently tugged the gag out of Sam's mouth, then fell back flat on his ass when Sam suddenly started to scream and lurched away from him.

"Don't…touch m-me!" Sam panted and moaned, his body writhing like he was in agony.

Dean couldn't see where his brother was hurt. The kid had some facial bruising and— Oh, God, his hair was a brutalized mess, totally bald in some spots, clumped in others. His bare upper body, legs, and arms looked fine. Certainly nothing to warrant this kind of response.

"Sam? Sammy? Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay," Dean tried again, his voice low and soothing as he reached out to his brother again, terrified when Sam let out another scream at the contact and strained away. Anger curdled fear. "What's wrong? What'd they do, Sammy? What'd they do?"

"I dunno," his brother whimpered. "Oh, God… Dean… I don't know…" His head rocked slightly in the dirt as he peered up at Dean with wide, wet eyes, his chest heaving with each breath. "But please…please…don't…touch me…"

Dean stared at his brother in horrified shock. Then Sam offered a sick-looking smile as an apology and passed out.

Certain Sam's response was mostly psychological, Dean tentatively reached out and placed two fingers against his brother's exposed throat. His eyes daggered as they lingered over the dirty gag that had silenced his brother, then moved down to trace the rope binding Sam's arms and legs. Dean took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down as his hands carefully palpated for injury. Finding out who did this, and making sure they never hurt anyone else ever again, was going to have to wait. Sam first, as always.

Satisfied Sam wasn't dying on him, Dean quickly cut through the ropes on Sam's wrists, scowling at the bloody abrasions and indentations left on his brother's skin, then slipped out of his jacket and wrapped the shivering body in it. He took a moment to run his fingers lightly through what was left of his brother's hair, assessing for head injury and offering comfort. "Sammy," he whispered, his voice thick, his vision a little less than perfect. Swallowing hard, he squeezed his brother's shoulder lightly, then went to work freeing Sam's legs, throwing the offending piece of rope at the wall.

"Okay, kiddo." Dean sighed, weighing his options and not really surprised to find he didn't have any. "Time to get out of here." Crouching down, Dean pulled Sam up and over his shoulder. "You know," he grunted, "if there's ever an Olympic sport for the Sasquatch carry, we are so entering…"

With one more grunt and his brother safely secured, Dean readjusted his coat over Sam, then glanced around the shed before leaving. There was nothing else there they needed. With his Glock held loosely in his free hand and the flashlight left behind, a sacrifice in the name of safety, Dean hurried them to the car, the memories of his brother's pained pleas not to be touched dogging every step as his stomach roiled.

* * *

Dean was pleasantly surprised when he came out of the bathroom to see Sam awake. Figuring exhaustion into the younger man's impressive list of problems, Dean was convinced Sam would be out for a while. Oh well, at least the kid had been asleep long enough for Dean to stitch his badly mauled wrists and get his unwieldy, long-limbed body settled into bed.

"Hey." He grinned, trying not to look disappointed when Sam jumped at the sound of his voice. "Look who's awake."

Sam stared at him for a moment like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, then frowned. "Dean?" His voice was thin and raspy.

"The one and only," Dean quipped trying to keep things casual as he moved to the small room fridge and plucked out a bottle of water. His brother's eyes followed him. Dean uncapping the water, then offered it to Sam.

His brother reached out hesitantly, then stopped and licked his lips. "Uh, put it down…over there." Sam indicated the small night table next to him, frowning harder as he saw the white gauze wrap on his wrists. His face paled but he didn't say anything, just distractedly plucked at the bandages, his eyes half-lidded, glazed and distant.

Placing the water down, Dean itched for something to do. He wasn't good at inactivity at the best of times, let alone when whoever had done this to his brother was still on the loose. "Sam? Sammy?"

His voice interrupted Sam's introspection, and seemingly with great effort, the younger man focused on Dean before he slowly started to push himself up to a sitting position. His arms trembled with the effort, but when Dean moved in to help, something akin to panic flashed across his brother's face, stopping Dean cold.

An apologetic half-wince wasn't going to cut it; he needed answers. Not liking any of the scenarios his fertile mind was coming up with to explain Sam's odd behavior, he prompted, "You wanna tell me what happened?" As much as he was terrified to hear it, he needed to know.

Ignoring the question, Sam took the bottle of water and slowly took a deep drink.

"Not too fast," Dean cautioned, moving in to take the container when it looked like Sam wasn't listening. "You'll get sick."

Once again, Sam seemed to panic when Dean got too close, this time throwing the bottle at Dean as he pressed himself back and almost off the bed.

Water spilled as Dean caught it. "What the hell, dude?" he sputtered, anger and worry hardening his voice. Sam had never been afraid of him before. _Never_. "What's wrong with you? I'm not going to hurt you!"

"I know! I know!" Sam gasped as he leaned forward and cradled his head in his shaking hands. A new level of anguish creased his face as his fingers felt scalp. White-faced, he stared, horrified, at Dean for a long moment, then with startling strength, bolted out of the bed and crashed into the bathroom, his older brother a heartbeat behind him.

"Breathe, Sam, God damn it, breathe!" Dean yelled as his younger brother leaned over the sink and stared at the brutalized mess of his hair, his eyes frantic and wide, his fluttering chest unable to keep up with the rapid breaths. The kid was on the verge of hyperventilating, but when Dean pressed a hand against his back to try to help, Sam jolted like he'd been burned, screamed, and shoved Dean away.

"Don't touch me! Don't you touch me!"

"Whoa, easy, Sammy, easy." Dean held out his hands placatingly as Sam backed himself against the wall. "It's just me. Dean. Your awesome big brother… Nothing here to hurt you, Sammy. I promise. _Nothing_."

Tears welled in hazel eyes, now bright green with turmoil. "I know. Damn it," Sam whispered, letting his head drop back with a dull thud as he slowly slid to the floor, his arms wrapping loosely, protectively, around his bare chest. "_I know_."

Dean crouched in front of him. His fingers flexed as he wanted to physically reach out to comfort his badly faltering brother but didn't, afraid of causing the younger man any further distress. _As if that's possible,_ he thought sarcastically, his mind dark and settled, already pretty sure he knew the cause of all this. "Hospital?" There were some things Dean wasn't equipped to deal with, and that kind of triage was one of them.

_Oh, God, if Sammy had been_— Dean felt sick.

Sam huffed. "No."

"Sammy…"

"I wasn't raped, if that's what you're thinking."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and let out a slow breath. He hadn't realized he was shaking until then. But—his eyes opened and studied his brother—if that wasn't it…

"Dean," Sam continued almost bitterly, "it's not… They didn't…do _that_."

"O-kay." Dean breathed out the word slowly, knowing his proud brother wouldn't lie to him about that, not when asked outright. "You want to tell me what _is_ going on then?"

"No."

"Sam—"

"Dean, please…no…" Sam didn't often beg, and when he turned his miserable gaze on Dean, the older man squirmed. "Please? Can we just…forget it?"

"Sam." As much as he'd love to just let this go, it was too obvious this wasn't one of those things they could just ignore. Hating himself but needing to prove a point he wasn't sure Sam would _listen_ to, Dean leaned toward his brother, then instantly sat back when Sam's eyes widened and he tried to shift away. "It's okay." Dean sighed wearily. Expecting the reaction didn't keep it from stinging. "I'm not going to touch you but, man, you have to tell me what's going on… This isn't something we can just forget, Sam. Not this time."

Sam closed his eyes, one of his hands reaching up to his hair again and his chest hitching noticeably when he fingered a short tuft. "This…sucks…"

The breathy whisper made something ache deep inside Dean. He chuckled humorlessly, his voice low. "I hear you, bro, I hear you…"

"Can we…?" Sam dropped his hand, opened his eyes, and cast a sidelong glance at his brother. "Can we…not do this…here?"

"Sure, Sam." Dean agreed. "Whatever you want." Afraid of startling his brother, he stood and waited as Sam gingerly unlocked himself and rose, using the wall for support. The kid trembled badly, and it took every ounce of self-restraint for Dean not to help him. Instead, he moved out of the way and gave his brother a wide berth.

* * *

Sam wasn't sure how he was going to explain his reactions to Dean when he didn't quite understand it himself. Moving like an old man between the bathroom and his bed, he used the time to try to make some sense out of what was going on. Everything seemed twisted, a jumble of half-memories that might or might not have been true. He was still trying to get his mind wrapped around the idea that he had been found, that he was back in the motel with Dean and not just drifting in a semi-conscious haze.

Behind him, Dean shifted, and Sam instinctively tensed, hating himself for his body's reactions even if he understood the logic behind it. _That_ was the only thing he was sure of. If Dean touched him, it would hurt. A lot.

And not just in an _ouch-I-knocked-my-toe-against-something_ kinda way. It was more an agonizing fire-burning-the-skin-off-your-bones kinda way. Sam knew. He knew from experience. It was the one thing Rachel and her buddies had made sure he'd remember. Now he had to try to explain it to Dean. Oh yeah, that was going to be fun.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Sam forced himself to focus on his hands, on the white bandages on his wrists. It helped keep him focused. The room was warm but still he trembled, his body's responses beyond his control. Peripherally, he saw Dean pick up a blanket and then pause, finally settling for tossing it gently on the bed next to Sam. Flashing his brother a grateful smile, Sam dragged the material over his shoulders, then frowned, noticing for the first time the broken bed across from him.

Dean must have followed his gaze because Sam saw his brother shrug casually, easing down to sit in front of the broken bed, close enough without being too close. He rested back and smirked as if daring Sam to comment. Sam just shook his head, afraid to even speculate. Dean looked disappointed.

For a few awkward moments, neither of them spoke. Sam had no idea where to start, and now that it came down to it, Dean seemed hesitant to ask.

Dean broke the silence first. "So, uh, you hungry?"

Sam blinked. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. His mouth opened in automatic denial, but then he took a moment to seriously consider the question. It had been a couple of days since he'd eaten… "I could eat," he finally decided, and Dean looked delighted, already on his feet before Sam finished speaking.

"What d'you want?"

Again, Sam took careful consideration of the question, recognizing the stall tactic for what it was. "Soup?" He wanted pizza but wasn't sure that would be a good idea. Not after his forced three-day no-food diet.

"Good idea," Dean concurred, his cell phone already to his ear. Sam listened as his brother ordered chicken noodle soup, crackers…and pizza, and his eyes burned. What would he do without Dean? Two minutes later, Dean was back sitting on the floor. "Thirty minutes or less, or we get it for free."

"That's good." The small talk felt painful, so Sam soldiered on, just wanting this to be over with. "I don't know what to tell you, man," he admitted. "That girl, from the bar, she just didn't take rejection too well…" He snorted at the understatement, his eyes dropping back to the bandages. He felt the weight of his brother's attention and shrugged. "She figured it was something with me, something she could, ah…fix."

"Something with you?" Dean sounded offended, and it actually made Sam smile a bit. "Like what?"

And then the smile dropped. Oh, God, this was going to be harder than he thought. Swallowing hard as a red blush heated his cheeks, Sam gritted out, "She thought, I was, well…that _we_ were," his mouth went dry as he remembered, "gay."

_"Gay?"_ Dean was incredulous. "You have got to be kidding me. This was gay bashing?" The older hunter snorted angrily as he rose to his feet and started to pace. Sam cringed when Dean got too close. "You have got to be kidding me!" he repeated.

Sam dropped his gaze to his lap and waited for the rest of the rant about how tired Dean was of morons thinking that about them and more specifically about Dean, but after a few moments of hearing nothing except the sound of his brother's heavy breathing, Sam lifted his head and saw nothing but concern. Fierce, protective concern. For him.

"Sam." Dean's voice was low and eerily calm as he pressed. "What. Did. They. Do?"

A crooked smile twisted Sam's lips. "What did they do?" he repeatedly sadly. "They 'cured' me."

"_Cured_ you?" The older man wasn't following.

"They made it so that, ah…" Sam paused, offering another smile, this one despondent and apologetic. "So that no guy can touch me. _Ever_." Not waiting for his brother to respond, he continued, "If you touch me…if any man touches me—you, Bobby, _any_ guy—it hurts, man. A slap on the back? A handshake?" Phantom pain ghosted along his skin and he gasped out, "Oh, God, Dean, it hurts! Pain. Excruciating pain. Like I'm being burned…._burned alive_…and I can't stop it. At all."

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

In memory of Rebel.

**The Cure**

**Chapter 4**

"Come again?" Bobby Singer stood outside the small motel room and stared at Dean in disbelief. "They did something to Sam so that no one—well, no one male—can touch him without it hurting him?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. True to his word, Bobby had shown up in the morning, just after Sam had finally drifted off in a drug-aided sleep. Normally, neither condoned the use of sleeping pills, but the kid was too keyed up to rest any other way. Now, Dean just wanted the older man to help him fix this. Or rather, unfix it. "Pretty much. Even through clothes…'though skin to skin contact is the worst." He sighed, leaned back against the side of the building, and closed his eyes. "Man, Bobby, you didn't see it. He freaked. And I mean totally freaked. Whatever they did to him, they made sure it worked first. They tested him…" Dean swallowed back bile. "Tested him by touching him. Over and over again." Opening his eyes, he cast a sidelong glance at the other man and snorted. "Bastards made sure it would hurt him, then let him go."

"Gave you the address."

"Yeah." God, Dean felt old. "But they weren't around by the time I got there."

"Smart. So, what exactly did they do?" Bobby pressed after a moment of silence in shared anger. "Three days isn't really enough to do any kind of conditioning or brainwashing, not to this extent and certainly not without some serious-assed drugs, anyway. You didn't see any needle marks on him?"

Dean shook his head. "No, but I wasn't really looking, either."

"You would have noticed."

The younger man didn't exactly share Bobby's conviction but said nothing.

"What's Sam saying?" Bobby continued.

"Nothing." It was hard to keep the frustration out of his voice. "Doesn't remember much except them touching him. Guess that's why he was in his boxers. Maximum amount of skin, minimum amount of dignity." Sourness built in his mouth, and he spat it out on the ground, then drew back at the anxious look the older man was giving him. "What?"

"Are you sure they didn't… I mean…" Bobby lifted his hat and scratched self-consciously at his scalp. "They wouldn't…"

Dean spared him. "Nothing below the belt."

"Oh, thank God." The heartfelt exhalation lightened some of the load; Bobby cared about Sam, too.

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

"So, no needle marks," Bobby mused aloud. "Doesn't mean they didn't drug him, though, just makes it unlikely. Could be something from our side of the tracks then…"

Dean shook his head. "I dunno, Bobby, I checked the place out when I was looking for Sam. Didn't see signs of anything otherworldly going on, but—"

"But," Bobby finished grimly, "that don't mean nothing. You wanna give me that address and I'll swing by and take another look? Fresh eyes and all that crap."

"Can't hurt," Dean admitted, his hands already searching his pockets for the slip of paper. "It was dark and I kinda had other things on my mind last night when I was there."

Bobby nodded and took the envelope. He was halfway to his car when he called over his shoulder, "Tell Sam I'll see him later."

Dean called after him, "Bring coffee."

Then the older man was gone in a grumble of noise and a lungful of dirt, leaving Dean standing outside the motel room. He watched until the car was a memory before turning and going back inside. He'd try to catch some sleep and keep his fingers crossed that Bobby's search was as successful as his own; he had found Sam, after all.

* * *

Sam sensed his brother was close. He opened his eyes and immediately jerked away as Dean's hand hovered just above his forehead.

"I thought you were still asleep." Dean looked sheepish as he pulled his hand back and rubbed it self-consciously against his jeans. "You look flushed," he defended. "And I thought…well, if you were still asleep…"

"I know," Sam said softly as he slowly sat up. The need to get back on his feet was overwhelming. He was pretty sure he had to be conscious for the "fix" to work, an obvious flaw in the cure. His insides twisted as he looked at his brother. The conflicting emotions on his brother's normally masked face hurt to see. Not one for chick-flick moments or words, Dean showed affection _physically_—shoulder nudges, slaps on the back, a squeeze on the back of the neck—and for him not to be able to do that? Sam sighed sadly. They'd just have to figure out something else. Maybe a code word or something? _Oh, yeah_, _that'll work out well._ How could they hunt together if they couldn't make physical contact?

Dean must have been thinking the same thing because he exhaled loudly. "Damn it, Sam, this isn't going to work. We have to find a way to undo this."

"How do you know we can't get around this?" Sam immediately contradicted, desperate to move on, to get away from this town and its people although he wasn't sure why. Winchesters didn't run. He stood and started toward the bathroom, feeling steadier this time. "We're brothers, we're not supposed to be touching anyways…" He stopped by the bathroom door, his head dropping as he gripped the doorframe and spoke over his shoulder. "And didn't that just sound bad?"

"Well, yeah, considering that's what got us in this mess to begin with." The older man snorted as he grabbed his car keys and jacket. "I'm going out to get some breakfast." He paused. Sam could feel the weight of the concerned gaze on his back. "You'll be okay?"

Sam smiled bitterly. _No_. "Yeah. Just…" He hated to even finish the sentence, but already something akin to fear prickled along his skin at the mere idea of Dean being gone farther than a shout. "Not too long, though, huh?"

"Back before you can even miss me," Dean assured him, although Sam knew that would never be true. "Oh, and before I forget, Bobby's here. He's snooping around but should be back with coffee soon." Fresh fear had Sam jerking around, but his brother anticipated his reaction and Dean's face was heartbreakingly understanding as he added softly, "It's okay, man, he knows." One of Sam's hands ghosted toward his hair, and his brother's sad smile almost broke him. "He knows everything. We'll figure this out, Sammy. I promise."

"Don't!" Sam shook his head vehemently as anxiety intensified his response. "No way, Dean. Don't. Just let it go, man. Let's just pack up and get the hell out of here. We can go to Bobby's, hang out, find a new hunt. Anything, but let's just go. _Please._" Sam couldn't explain it; he just knew they needed to get out of that town.

"Sam," Dean frowned, "how can you say that?" Something dark flashed across his face, his voice growing louder and more heated with each word. "How can you expect me to do that? Those people _hurt_ you, Sam. Just look at yourself! Your face is black and blue, your chest is worse, and your hair… God damn it, Sam! Whether or not you're okay with that, I'm _not_! _What the hell kind of brother would I be if I just let this go?_" Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean spoke over him. "More importantly, how are _you_ planning to go on like this? Hate to break this to you, bro, but there are lots of other people in this world…_male_ people who won't know and don't give a shit if they have to push you out of the way to get where they're going. So, unless you're planning on becoming a hermit or something, Sam, we can't ignore this! Not this time." His eyes were bright green with intensity and he didn't wait for Sam to respond. He shook his head and left the room, pulling the door closed, hard.

A moment later, the Impala roared to life and squealed out of the parking lot and with it went Sam's sanity.

* * *

"I don't believe that kid," Dean grumbled as he drove. "Forget about this? Yeah, nice try, idiot, it doesn't work like that." The farther he got from the motel, the more he calmed down until, by the time he was pulling through a fast food drive-thru, he was more morose than angry.

_Shit, Sam,_ _what the hell did they do to you?_

* * *

Sam stood for a long time in the doorway to the bathroom before nature reminded him why he'd had to get up. After flushing and washing his hands, mindful of the bandages on his wrists, he took a deep, steadying breath. Forcing all other thoughts to the furthest part of his mind, he looked up, taking a clinical look at himself in the mirror.

Dean was right. His face was a mess, thanks mostly to Tiny. But his hair—Sam lowered his gaze and sucked in a breath. He was trembling. His hair…

_"It's just hair, Sam, it'll grow back." _

John Winchester's voice caught Sam off guard.

_"Just hair. It doesn't make you any less who you are… It sucks. I know. But it's just hair, son."_

Dean. Nair.

Sam shook his head and managed a shaky chuckle at the memory. Dean had thought it was a great prank and still gloated about it now, but at the time, it was anything but funny. Sam's hair had come out in chunks, and the sixteen-year-old had stood terrified in front of the bathroom mirror with his retired Marine father trying to offer comfort. Dean had lost the Impala for a month and had gotten some major PE time; John Winchester's cure for everything was more laps and push-ups.

Now, as his father's attempted reassurance echoed through him, putting things back into perspective, it gave Sam the courage to do what he needed to.

Reaching for a can of shaving cream and lathering up a handful, Sam sucked in a breath, whispered, "It _is_ only hair," and got to work.

Less than ten minutes later, he was bald and in tears.

It might have only been hair but it was Sam's, and Sam had never given Rachel and her goons permission to touch it.

* * *

When Dean entered the motel room, Sam had to give him credit: the older man never even paused. Instead, he dropped a bag of take-out and a couple of bottles of orange juice on the small table inside the door, shrugged off his jacket, then crouched down next to where his duffel bag had fallen when his bed broke. After a few moments of pawing through dirty laundry and God only knew what else, he gave a satisfied nod, twisted around, and launched something at Sam.

Startled, Sam caught it and for a moment just stared at it in confusion. But as soon as he realized what it was, his breath stuttered. It was a black knit cap,_ the_ cap Dean had actually bought at an AC/DC concert when they were both teens and he'd somehow managed to scam a pair of tickets. Sam still remembered that concert, and his eyes burned as he lightly fingered the offering, knowing how much it meant to Dean. Swallowing hard, he nodded and put it on, surprised by how much better he felt wearing it. He was still bald but, as always, Dean had it covered. "Thanks, bro," Sam managed.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, uncomfortable with Sam's gratitude, then glanced around the room. "No Bobby yet?"

"Nothing gets by you," Sam quipped, feeling much better now as his stomach growled and he moved to the table. "What'd you get?"

"Crap," Dean admitted, subtlety stepping back. "And orange juice."

Sam cast him a grateful smile, ready to eat whatever intestinal punishment his brother had gotten for them. The soup from last night had helped, and he was sure his stomach was now fully prepared for the assault. "This looks good." Sam pulled out something wrapped in wax paper and oozing cheese. "Real good."

Dean beamed, seemingly pleased by Sam's enthusiasm, but before he could say anything, the rumbling of a Chevy interrupted. Sam tensed; Bobby was back.

Unsure and nervous of the older hunter's reaction, Sam moved back to his bed and perched on the edge, suddenly finding the paper wrapping on his breakfast very interesting.

Dean frowned at him for a moment, his gaze concerned, before moving to the door and letting Bobby in. "Hey, Bobby," he greeted. "Thanks, man, you're a lifesaver."

Sam stiffened, his own eyes now firmly fixed on the floor, the muscle in his jaw twitching as the older man entered the room and passed off a tray of coffees to Dean.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's me. Singer's Coffee Delivery."

Sam felt the exact moment Bobby looked at him. He closed his eyes, heart pounding as his agitation grew.

Then a gruff, "You'd better get your ass up here if you want something hot," had him looking again and instead of seeing… Well, Sam wasn't sure what he'd expected to see on the older man's face, but all he saw was Bobby.

"I got nothing frou-frou, but plenty of black."

Sam flashed a grateful smile and stood again. "Thanks, Bobby."

Like Dean had done, Bobby moved away, letting Sam have clear access to the table. "No trouble, kid, though I gotta admit," the older man sighed, "looks like you've sure had your share of it."

"I'd say you have no idea," Sam grabbed one of the coffees, then turned to the other man, "but you do. Dean told you everything?"

Softness flashed briefly in Bobby's eyes as he nodded, then it was gone and the hunter was speaking to Dean. "Checked out the place and found nothing. Whoever they are, they're good."

Sam jerked at Bobby's words.

_Whoever they are, they're good…_

_He screamed as Tiny ran a big hand down his bare back. The skin-to-skin contact burned, scalded. _

Sam's hands started to shake.

_"Feel this, boy," the big man growled as his fingers clawed down one of Sam's legs. Agony, blazing and white, seared through Sam as he bucked and tried to twist away. "This ain't nothing compared to what it could be if you don't behave."_

"Sam?"

_Rachel's voice licked across his skin, and he shivered. "Get away, Sammy," she whispered. "Get away…" _

"Sam? Are you okay?"

He heard Dean's voice and tried to focus on it but he was shaking so hard now, hot coffee burned his hands.

_"Don't let us catch you again." _

"Damn it!" Dean's voice was far away, but when his brother's fingers brushed his in the haste to grab the coffee cup, the pain was slicing enough to yank Sam out of the memories.

"No!" he yelled, pulling his hand in close to his body and trying to rub away the pain. But it continued to burn, searing and hot, and when he looked down, he half-expected to see the flesh burned down to the bone. _Is this what it feels like to burn alive? Oh, God! Mom… Jess…_ Guilt speared his gut and he fought to breathe. _No! No! No! Please!_

Around him, Dean and Bobby flittered, experienced, lethal, helpless. They didn't know what to do. There was nothing they could do. Nothing anyone could do. Sam would just have to ride it out until, if he was lucky, he lost consciousness. If not, then—

Dean's fist hit fast and hard, and Sam blessed the oblivion and his brother's desperation.

_Thank you..._

* * *

Dean caught his brother when he went down, his arms wrapping tightly and protectively around Sam as his heart ached more than just the fist that had knocked Sam out. He hated himself for doing it. For causing the kid any more pain than he was in, but Dean had had no choice. Sam was in agony, his keening and distress fueling Dean's impotency until he could only do one thing: shut his brother down. As he held his unconscious sibling, turning Sam's lax face in toward his neck so Dean could feel every breath against his shoulder bone, he said, "We gotta find them, Bobby. We gotta fix this…" Trembling fingers dared caress the new bruise on his brother's face.

As Bobby grabbed a blanket off the nearby bed and helped Dean wrap it around his brother, the older hunter nodded in agreement. This cure was killing them.

* * *

Sam was awake with a start and on his feet in an instant, grabbing for his duffel bag with one hand and his jeans with the other. Fighting lightheadedness and stiffness, he hopped first on one foot, then the other, yanking on his jeans. Then he quickly stuffed everything else he owned into his bag. His jaw throbbed, but it was a welcome pain.

"Ah, Sam?"

His brother's voice startled him, and he paused long enough to see Dean standing shirtless in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush held in one hand, razor in the other. He found it odd that Dean was shaving mid-afternoon.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing, Dean, what does it look like?" It came out sharper than he intended, but the longer they stayed in town, the more desperate to leave he was becoming. "Time to go."

"Go?"

Sam hated when his brother played dumb. Glancing around to see if he was forgetting anything, he realized they were alone. "Where's Bobby?"

"Not far." Dean was deliberately vague. "Let's get back to the 'us going' bit… Where are we going, Sam?"

"Stop being obtuse."

"What does geometry have to do with this?"

"Would you just stop it?" Sam snapped, his patience as skewed as the rest of his emotions. Restlessly, his hands moved to his head and stopped; there was no hair to shove out of his face. "Look," he tried to make Dean understand, "I don't want to stay here any longer, okay? I want to put this town as far behind me as I can. But to do that, we need to leave. Now."

Dean frowned, put down the toothbrush and razor, and moved out into the room. Deceptively casual, he leaned against the wall, keeping a somewhat acceptable distance between them, and folded his arms. "I thought we'd already had this conversation, Sam. I thought this was settled."

"We did," Sam admitted, agitated, "and now it's resettled."

Before he could continue, a brief rap on the door announced Bobby a second before the door was shoved open and the man was inside. He glanced from one Winchester to the next, picked up on the tension, and snorted. "Can't leave you two alone for ten minutes, can I?" He narrowed his gaze at the duffel Sam was holding in one hand. "Going somewhere?"

"Yes."

"No."

"O-kay." The senior hunter drawled, letting the door close behind him.

"Bobby, can Dean ride with you?"

It wasn't only Dean who was shocked, although Bobby's response was definitely a bit more subtle; he only made an unhappy face.

The older Winchester roared, "_What_?"

Sam ignored him, neatly sidestepping both men as he shouldered his duffel and headed for the door. "It'll just be easier this way." He paused and gave Dean a pleading look. "Please. Just until we get this figured out."

"How the hell can we sort anything out if you're just going to run away?" Dean spit out, livid as he stalked toward Sam, using Sam's reactive shift to get between his brother and the door. "You're stronger than this!"

"Don't tell me how strong I am, Dean. Don't you dare." Sam was seething, his whole body shaking, a startling mixture of anger and fear. He opened his mouth to say more, but clamped his jaw shut instead, not wanting to do this. Arguing with Dean was the last thing he wanted to do, afraid the angry words would hurt too much and be too hard to take back. Neither of them needed that. Not when Sam knew his brother was just trying to help him. But Dean didn't understand that the best thing he could do right now was to just leave town with Sam. Quietly. _Yeah_, _like Dean would ever do that. Not where I'm concerned._

Bobby, quiet until then, took his life into his hands and stepped between the brothers, putting his back to Sam and addressing Dean. "Get your stuff, kid." His tone was gruff but low. "Your brother's right. You ride with me, Sam'll follow."

Sam expected Dean to argue. His brother even started to open his mouth but then gave Bobby a questioning look, his eyes searching the older man's face for something. Bobby gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, and Sam wished he could see the man's face, knowing he was missing something. After another moment, a tight-lipped Dean brushed past Bobby and grabbed his own duffel. He refused to look at Sam.

Swallowing back the hurt but relieved at the small win, Sam gave a shaky smile of appreciation to Bobby when the veteran turned around. The older man gave a slight nod, then sighed tiredly. "We'll head back to my place. No detours, Sam. Stay on my tail."

Sam nodded fervently, eager to go. "Of course, Bobby. All the way."

"You get tired, you let us know. We'll pull over," the older man continued, wincing as Dean slammed the drawers of the dresser after making sure nothing was left behind. "We don't have to get there tonight."

Again, like a bobblehead, Sam nodded. "Okay. Got it."

Dean snorted loudly, then shouldered his own bag and finally looked at his brother. His eyes were dark, his face unreadable. "This is fucking stupid," he snarled, then stalked out the door.

Sam closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to see Bobby watching him worriedly.

"Give him time, Sam."

"I know, Bobby." And Sam did. "If things were reversed, I'd be pissed, too."

The older man pursed his lips in agreement, then cast a quick glance around the room. "All right then, let's go."

Sam couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

* * *

"What the hell was all that about?" Dean demanded as soon as he and Bobby pulled out of the parking lot, the Impala tight behind them.

"I got a theory," Bobby admitted as he glanced in his rear view mirror.

"Oh, yeah?" Dean couldn't keep the irritation out of his tone. This went against every protective instinct he had, although to be honest, he'd expected as much. The _trust me_ look Bobby had given him when trying to convince him to go along with Sam had been the only reason they were here right now. "Care to share?"

"I think you're brother's been cursed."

Dean felt cold as his glance automatically shifted to the side mirror to make sure Sam was still there. "Cursed?" The image of the beautiful girl from the bar flooded his mind.

"Yup." Bobby nodded. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else explains this. And if I'm right, keeping him here actually isn't going to help him. There's probably something built into the spell that makes the victim desperately _need_ to get out of town or things get worse because neither of you boys would normally just run away from something like this."

"That _would_ explain Mr. Antsy-Pants back there," Dean had to agree, thinking about how much more agitated Sam seemed to be getting the longer they hung around. Though he wasn't exactly sure if Sam being hexed made things better or worse. "So, it can be undone? We can fix this?"

Bobby cast him a guarded look. "Maybe…"

"Bobby." Dean growled out the name, not liking the other man's hesitancy.

The grizzled hunter grimaced. "Dean, it might not be as simple as that. There isn't always a counterspell."

"For the love of…" The younger man sighed in exasperation as he slumped down in the seat, his gaze glued to the side mirror. One big black car? Check. "Great. Just freaking great."

"I'm not saying whoever did this to him can't undo it. I just don't want you to get your hopes up about there being a quick fix," Bobby cautioned him.

"How sure are you that this is a spell?" Dean needed to know. When they had worried about Sam somehow being brainwashed, there had been hope the conditioning would wear off, but if it was a spell…well, some spells had no expiration dates.

Bobby shrugged. "It's the only thing that makes sense. With Sam and with the other victims. You said yourself all the other guys who were affected got out of town as soon as they could."

"That damn girl," Dean growled. "It has to be her."

"Probably," the older man agreed.

"Turn around." The need to take care of the bitch was overwhelming.

But Bobby was already shaking his head. "Dean," he reminded, "she ain't going to be that easy to find. Not right now."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he knew Bobby was right. He'd turned the whole freakin' town upside down when Sam had gone missing and hadn't been able to find her. Guaranteed she'd be keeping extra low until they were gone.

Bobby mirrored what he'd been thinking. "Let's just get your brother back to my place. Give him a couple days to rest up, give her some time to think she's safe, and then we'll head back and get this taken care of."

Not liking the idea of waiting but knowing it made sense, Dean chewed on it some more as Bobby drove. Sam stayed glued to their tail like an obedient puppy, and the thought made Dean smile. A big black puppy. Yeah, that'd be his brother. A freakin' Labrador Retriever. Too bad the only thing his brother seemed to bring home was trouble.

A new thought refreshed his frown. "We can't bring Sam back with us." He glanced at Bobby. "She might sense him somehow."

The other man swung his eyes from the road to give him a quick look. "Possibly. But I'm not going to be the one who tells him he can't come."

"Chicken."

"Not chicken." Bobby gave him a grin. "Smart."

And Dean couldn't exactly argue that point. Telling Sam to stay behind while he and Bobby went after the person who quite possibly cursed him wasn't exactly something Dean was looking forward to, either. Stubborn and Winchester were practically synonymous.

* * *

Sam hated this. He hated being in the Impala by himself while Dean rode with Bobby, but he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't risk accidental contact in the close confines of the car. And it wasn't the pain Sam was afraid of—not this time. It was the fear of causing the car to go off the road and his brother being hurt. Of course, he knew that thought hadn't even crossed Dean's mind when Sam had set out the driving arrangement, and he was just thankful Bobby had been there to help convince Dean.

Everything was fine for the first two hours, until a very angry and painful growl reminded him that he hadn't been treating his stomach right. Sam made a quick phone call to the car ahead and they agreed to pull off at the next exit they saw. Dean had to take a leak anyway.

Relieved to find a place with a drive-thru, Sam pulled up to the order window while Bobby parked and went inside with Dean. By agreement, Sam would wait for them after he got his order. It would give him a chance to eat before they hit the road again.

After ordering a burger, fries, and a drink, Sam fished some money out of his pocket and let the big car roll ahead to the pick-up window. Glancing up, he went white. A guy. It had to be a guy at the window. A pock-faced teenager with his sweaty hand stuck out toward Sam, waiting for payment. Shifting away from the hand, Sam swallowed back a surge of panic, his eyes automatically searching his brother out, hoping by some chance Dean had come back outside. Of course, he hadn't.

Oh, shit.

"Ah," he thought fast, "I've got a cold. A bad, nasty cold." He gave a few pathetic coughs, knowing his bruised face probably did more to sell the idea than his acting. "How about I just put the money down on the ledge?"

The kid gave him a _you're a weirdo_ look, shrugged and pulled his hand back in.

With a sigh of relief, Sam put a bill down on the counter, then brushed off the change. Yeah, he wasn't chancing that for a measly few bucks.

A tense handoff later, Sam had the bag of food on the seat next to him and the drink safely tucked between his legs. Forcing himself to breathe normally, the weary hunter pulled away from the drive-thru and parked next to Bobby. And of course, that was when Dean came striding out, his face only relaxing when he saw Sam.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes searching the younger man's face.

Sam offered him a weak smile, relieved that Dean wasn't still pissed-off. "There was a guy at the window," he admitted.

"Hate to tell you, bro, but there are guys everywhere." The compassion in Dean's voice made Sam's eyes burn.

"I want to fix this," he suddenly felt the need to say, and then rushed out, "I do, Dean. I really do! I don't want to be like this forever. I can't…"

Dean held up his hand, his eyes unnaturally soft. "Easy, Sammy, easy. I know you do, okay? And we _will_ fix this. I promise. Let's just get to Bobby's first?"

Glad his brother understood, Sam gave a quick nod and hastily scrubbed at his face, angry at himself for something he couldn't control. "Okay," he agreed, seeing Bobby come out the door carrying a drink tray and a large bag of food. "But if I were you, I'd consider helping him," he cast a significant look at the older man struggling with the food, "before he makes you walk."

"What the hell do I look like?" Bobby snarked as if on cue. "A pack animal?"

"Do I really have to answer that?" Dean gave Sam a quick wink, then hurried to help the other man.

And God help him, Sam laughed out loud. What had happened to him really, really sucked, but having Dean and Bobby helped. A lot.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**The Cure**

**Chapter 5**

Three days at Bobby's found two tightly wound Winchesters on the roof, arguing.

"Cut the crap, Sam," Dean growled. "You know as well as I do we gotta finish this thing with that bitch!" Balancing on the slippery, slanted roof, he glared down at his younger brother as Sam carefully pried at a damaged shingle. They'd been up there for about two hours now, methodically searching out and patching the leaky spots, but as they worked a particularly worn section near the chimney, Dean wasn't even sure why he was up there to begin with. Except to maybe offer moral support as Sam was the "expert" in this case, thanks apparently to a long, hot California summer working for a building contractor. Shove Dean under the hood of a car or a moaning woman and he was the freakin' second coming, but roofing? Not a clue. Not to mention he really wasn't overly fond of heights. Heck, that was the only reason he'd _let_ Sam grow taller. Gigantic freak.

"The only thing we need to finish," Sam grunted as he yanked up the offending shingle, "is fixing this roof."

His brother was in denial. It was too easy for Sam to forget about his little problem, squirreled away here at Bobby's where the only people he had to avoid contact with were Dean and Bobby. But it didn't change anything. The curse, which Dean was convinced this was, had to be broken. Sam just didn't seem to feel the same way, vehemently arguing against the idea of going back and finding that girl, insisting he could deal with this.

Dean felt his limited patience snap. "You stubborn ass!" he yelled. "I'm not _asking_ your permission here, I'm just telling you the way it's going to be!"

That got Sam's attention, and the younger man slowly stood, his eyes dark, his emotions shuttered.

Dean lowered his voice. "Me and Bobby are leaving in the morning, Sam."

"Dean." His name came out as a weary plea. "Don't. It's okay, dude. It really is."

Dean studied his brother. The bruising on Sam's face was a mottled mess of yellows, blacks and greens as he healed. His wrists were still bandaged, the stubble on the top of his head merely a dark shadow. Dean shook his head. "No, Sam. It's not okay. How can you even say that?" It was the same conversation they'd been having for the past two days.

"Because I can. This affects _me_, man, and if I don't have any problem with it, why should you?"

Sam's tone was reasoning, placating, and Dean hated it. He narrowed his eyes. It was not like his brother to be so accepting. Bobby insisted the uncustomary docility was probably part and parcel of the spell, but the older Winchester couldn't just let it go. This was _Sam_, his little brother, they were talking about. He had to be able to get through to him. Frustrated, he snapped, "How the hell can you say that, Sam? I trust you to watch my back! You're no use to me like this." Intending to make a dramatic exit, Dean spun around to leave, and felt his feet slip out from underneath him.

"_Dean_!"

He heard Sam yell but there was nothing he could do. As if in slow motion, he went down hard on his butt and skittered toward the edge of the roof.

Frantically, his fingers scrabbled to find some purchase, but the shingles were too slippery. As his legs went over the edge, Dean's right hand was sliced open on something sharp before it caught on the edge of the aluminum gutter and he jerked to a stop. Panting hard, he closed his eyes for a second as Sam shouted his name again. "I'm…okay," he finally gasped out, not daring to move. There was no way the gutter would hold his weight for very long.

"_Bobby_!" Sam was shouting above him, "Help!"

And then the flimsy piece of aluminum made a horrible creaking sound and started to pull away from the house.

* * *

As the gutter broke, Dean let out a startled cry. Sam dropped to his stomach, hooked one long leg around the chimney, and grabbed for his brother's wrists.

Sam didn't even have to think about it. Dean was going to fall; they didn't have time to wait for Bobby.

The pain was instant and blinding, but Sam didn't let go, even when he was yanked forward as Dean finally fell and he took on his brother's full weight. His fingers curled tightly against his brother's hot skin, clenching in pain and digging into flesh. A grunt strangled his lungs as searing pain shot through his hands and forearms, but Sam never let go. His arms would have to burn off his body before he'd let his brother fall.

* * *

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean yelled as he swung freely just beneath the level of the roof, held in place only by his brother's strength. The horrid, pain-stricken noises Sam was making seared every instinct in Dean, and he tried to yank himself free. They had no idea what would happen with prolonged contact. Broken bones seemed a small price to pay not to find out. "Let…me…_go_!"

But Sam, his face bleached white, sweat already dripping off his forehead as he struggled to breathe, refused. "No," the stubborn ass gasped, the word a harsh push of air through tightly grit teeth. "_Never!_"

Dean changed tactics, knowing they didn't have much time. If Sam lost consciousness, they'd both go over the edge. "Bobby!_ Bobby!_

Sam let out a heart-wrenching wail as his fingers dug harder into the skin on Dean's wrists, drawing blood and making the older man grunt out a curse. As his brother's grip started to slip, something hard nudged Dean's legs, and then Bobby was there, yelling at him to _"Step on the ladder, God damn it!"_. He only had to tell Dean once. Just as he found his footing, Sam whimpered, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he let go.

Dean shoved on Sam's shoulders to keep the younger man from falling forward. "You stupid, stubborn—" he choked out, his whole body trembling, his heart pounding wildly. "You should have let me fall." But even as he said the words, Dean knew if things had been reversed, he would have done the exact same thing.

Leaning forward until his forehead pressed against the back of his brother's sweat-soaked head, Dean let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. That bitch was going down.

* * *

This time when Sam regained consciousness, he hurt. Before, he'd been stiff and tired, but this time his hands still actually hurt. He lay quiet for a moment. The pain reminded him of a really bad sunburn he'd had once.

Shifting slightly, he brought his hands up in front of his face and winced. They were red and raw-looking. Terrific. Letting his arms drop back down with a thud, he closed his eyes again and exhaled wearily. And then memory slammed him wide awake—

_I trust you to watch my back! You're no use to me like this…_

_Dean!_

Rolling off the bed and onto his feet, Sam grimaced at how much "fun" it must have been getting him off the roof. He prayed he'd been able to hold on long enough for Bobby to get to Dean, although waking up alone did nothing to assuage his fear.

_If Dean fell…_

He almost tripped down the stairs in his haste, and let out a huge sigh of relief when he heard his brother call out, "Sam?" Dean was in the kitchen.

"Oh, thank God," Sam burst out as soon as he saw Dean sitting at the table, a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of him. One of Dean's hands was bandaged, and he had scabbed-over scratches on his arms. "Are you okay?"

Dean stood. "I should be asking you the same thing."

Sam followed his gaze down to his smarting hands. Self-consciously, he jammed them into his jeans pockets, gasping in pain at the stupid move.

"Sammy…" The word whistled out as a guilty sigh. "You should have—"

"I should have what, Dean?" Sam interrupted. "Let you fall?" He couldn't keep the incredulousness out of his voice, but as his brother's eyes darted away, he knew that was _exactly_ what Dean was saying. Snorting in disbelief, Sam leaned back against the counter, carefully folded his arms across his chest, and gave his brother a pointed look. "Yeah, well I was raised better than that."

Dean looked away, suddenly very interested in the design on Bobby's floor, but not before Sam saw the pleased flush creep across his face. Deciding to save his brother, again, Sam continued, "Besides, I thought you said we were heading out in the morning."

And just like that, Dean's eyes were back on him, intense and piercing. To anyone else it'd be intimidating. "What'd you say?"

"I said," Sam spoke carefully, his heart pounding at the mere thought, as determined as he was to see this through, "that listening to you bellyaching about broken bones on a long drive is not how I want to spend tomorrow."

"Sammy…" Dean drew the name out like it pained him.

"I know what you said, about you and Bobby going, and…even if I wasn't agreeing with you at the time, I get that you want me to wait it out here. But I can't, man, I can't." Sam swallowed hard, his eyes bright. "You were right. I can't watch your back like this." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam held up his hand, silently pleading with his brother to let him finish. "I know you were just trying to get a rise out of me when you said it, but it doesn't make it any less true, Dean. I'm useless like this. And," he took a deep breath and admitted, "I can't live like this. This isn't me. I hate this. I hate what they did to me." And, if he was being truly honest with himself, he missed the physical aspect of being a brother: the playful swipes, punches, wrestling, the feeling of a rough hand on the back of his neck when the nights were too long and the emotional wounds too fresh. He missed that part of Dean, of being Dean's little brother. So while he wasn't keen on going back, he'd be damned if he'd let Dean and Bobby go without him.

Dean appraised him. "You sure?" Ever the big brother, he might push but he'd never force.

Sam didn't even pause. "As sure as I'm going to get." There was so much more he wanted to say, but the proud look that glinted in his brother's eyes as Dean slowly nodded muted his voice. His brother understood.

"On one condition," Dean stated seriously as he continued to assess Sam.

"Anything."

"We stick together on this one."

A grateful smile lit up Sam's face, and he suddenly felt a whole lot better. "Wouldn't want it any other way, bro," he admitted. Watching his brother wince when Dean unconsciously reached for the mug with his injured hand, Sam grimaced in sympathy, his own hands still aching. "How's the hand?"

Dean scowled, making Sam grin, knowing his brother appreciated the change of topic as much as he did. "I got eight stitches from roofing, Sam. _Roofing_…" The older man's voice rang with disbelief. "I got wendigo scars, zombie scars, and a really cool one from a poltergeist with a pool cue, but roofing? Man, that's just downright embarrassing." He consoled himself with a long drink of coffee, then wiped his lips and managed a straight face as he finished, "Dude, I'm just too pretty for roofing…"

* * *

The closer they got to the town, the more antsy Sam became. Dean normally would have found it pretty funny, but nothing about this was even remotely humorous anymore. At least this time, though, they were riding together in the Impala, even if Sam was in the backseat, apparently not trusting Dean to keep his hands to himself.

"Sam," Dean offered for the hundredth time since leaving Bobby's, "we can just drop you—"

"I'm fine," Mr. Ants-in-his-pants interrupted. The sound of his shifting on the vinyl seat set Dean's teeth on edge. "Let's just get this over with."

"We really need to work on your definition of 'fine,'" Dean grumbled, forcing his full attention back on the road. Bobby's car led the way; the older man refused to ride with them, not trusting that all three of them would survive the trip in one vehicle. Although Dean suspected it had more to do with making sure they had a second car just in case things didn't work out as planned than any real fear of spending that much quality time with the Winchester boys.

"Dean…" Sam breathed out his name.

Dean shut up, knowing his brother's nerves were pretty raw. Thankfully though, Sam's hands had fared much better than Dean's. He still sported a bandage, while Sam's were barely even pink anymore. That was something good, right? "Just saying…"

"And I appreciate it, I really do," the younger man stressed, "but I just… This is something I have to do. Okay?"

Dean understood. Sorta. He really had no good frame of reference for what Sam might be going through, but he did know one thing and it made him proud. Even when his brother was afraid, he always rose to meet that fear, head-on. Well, except for clowns. Sam really was still scared of clowns. That brought a weak smile to Dean's face. Maybe, when all this was over, he'd have to arrange for some sort of Bozo intervention. Six-foot-four and scared of a man wearing makeup? Yeah, his brother needed help.

Another hour had the hunters pulling over at a gas station just outside the town. The car was empty and so was Dean. He watched Bobby walk toward him as Sam beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom. Okay, so maybe some of the kid's squirming might have been a bit more physiological than psychological.

"How do you want to do this?" Bobby didn't waste any time with pleasantries, deferring to the Winchesters on this hunt.

"I dunno," admitted Dean as he started to pump gas. "Do you have anything against going in with guns blazing?"

Bobby scrubbed at a spot on his chin and seemed to seriously consider the plan. "Well," he drawled after a moment, his gaze lazily following two guys heading in the same direction Sam had gone, "it'd be a hell of a waste of ammo…"

Dean followed his gaze, his jaw tightening as the men disappeared from view.

"Other than that," Bobby shrugged and reached noncommittally to take the gas pump handle when Dean's brow furrowed, "none whatsoever."

"I'll take that into consideration," Dean called over his shoulder as he took off, unsure about whether or not his brother was about to get himself cornered but determined to be there, just in case.

* * *

Sam's hands shook as he leaned over the sink to splash cold water on his face. His nerves were shot to hell; the closer they got to town, the more uneasy he grew. He wasn't even sure he could get back in the car without being sick. Images of Rachel, Tiny, and their friends prickled behind every thought, their unspoken threats and unwanted attention tugging at Sam's confidence. Only sheer willpower kept him from taking Dean up on the offer to be left behind.

But Sam couldn't do that. He couldn't let them win. Unfortunately, bravado and determination were slaves of fear and would only go as far as his trepidation let them. Thankfully, where they failed, his brother more than picked up the slack. Just knowing Dean was with him this time and that they weren't going to split up was enough to keep Sam going. He swallowed back the bile and willed his stomach to calm down.

Then a loud banging at the door made him jump as a voice, a _male_ voice, shouted through the wood: _"Hurry the fuck up!"_

Aw, crap.

He knew as soon as he unlocked the door, this guy was going to shove his way right past him. Sam paled. Shit. He was still wrung out after Dean's save yesterday; he didn't have the reserves left to deal with this.

_"What the hell's your problem?"_ an equally loud and angry-sounding Dean snapped.

Sam smiled, warmed from the inside. His big brother was watching…

_"I gotta take a piss."_ The stranger's voice again.

_"Go water a tree."_

_"Easy, buddy,"_ another man chimed in. _"What's it to ya?"_

Sam could easily imagine the dangerous look on his brother's face and hurried to stop this before things got out of hand. He trusted Dean to clear a path, which his brother did. As soon as Sam opened the door, Dean moved to block one of the men—obviously the one who'd been banging on the door—then stepped back, his hands thrown up in supplication once Sam was outside.

The two guys with Dean glanced at Sam, glanced way _up_ at Sam, then decided maybe the Winchesters weren't any kind of trouble they wanted to mess with after all. Dean's guy snorted angrily, pushed past Dean, and made a show of slamming the bathroom door after him while the other guy gave them a bit more room.

Dean rolled his eyes but thankfully kept his mouth shut as he followed Sam back to where Bobby had finished filling up and was leaning on the roof of the car, watching for them.

"Everything okay?" he asked when they got close enough.

"Yup," Dean answered for them both as Sam opened the rear door and slipped inside, his stomach once again churning. "Nothing my intimidation factor couldn't handle."

Sam snorted but lay his head back against the seat and didn't bother to comment. It really amazed him sometimes what size ego his brother packed away in that _little_ body of his. He chuckled at the thought, easily imagining his brother's indignant reply.

_Little? I'll show you little…_

Right before Dean did something that would both mortify and remind Sam that three inches and a few pounds would never be a match for his big brother.

And Sam couldn't ever be prouder.

"Hey," Dean barked, heatless, from the front seat, "what're you laughing at?"

"Not a damn thing," the younger man grinned, knowing it would drive his brother crazy. It did if the exasperated look his sibling gave him just before he started the car, gunned the engine, and pealed out of the parking lot were any indication.

"Real mature, Sam, real _fucking_ mature. Fine. You don't want to tell me, that's just fine with me." Which of course meant it wasn't. "I can chuckle at things too and not tell you about them." And he did, which only made Sam laugh harder, which in turn offered him a wonderful distraction until Dean stopped the car twenty minutes later and Sam realized where they were.

At the bar. _The_ bar.

Shit.

Bobby didn't follow them in, just drove past. Sam thought he heard Dean's cell ringing, but he wasn't listening, his heart pounding too loud for him to hear anything else. He didn't know what they were going to do, but he hoped to God Dean had a plan. There was no way Sam could go into this flying by the seat of his pants. Not this time.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you guys for your awesome support of this story. I have to admit I am sad to see it end but here it is. The last chapter. I hope you enjoy it._

**The Cure**

**Chapter 6**

Dean knew Sam was freaking out before he even hung up with Bobby and regretted not drugging the kid and leaving him behind, safe, in a nearby motel room. But his brother had been insistent about being there and, in the end, Dean knew the younger man had to be part of this. Sam needed closure and a chance to regain his dignity and self-respect. This was the only way he was going to get it. Putting on his best _I got this all figured out_ grin, Dean forced all his own doubts, worries, and concerns behind his carefully measured expression and cocked an eyebrow. "Ready?"

Sam gave him a panicked _Do I look like I'm ready?_ look.

Dean grimaced. "Okay, wrong choice of words…" His brother's gaze was so intense, it actually hurt. "Sam—" He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face before twisting around to look back out the front window. "Look, I don't like it, but we can wait if you want us to, give it another day or something."

"No, Dean." Sam's voice was strained. "If we leave now, we won't be coming back."

Dean didn't agree but kept his mouth shut.

"I just… I need to know there's a plan. Please, tell me there's a plan."

"There's a plan." Dean wasn't lying; he just wasn't sure it was thought-out enough to satisfy his brother. Sam desperately needed something concrete to hold on to right now. "We go in, _together_, get a couple of beers and wait. From what you've said, it sounds like they wanted you gone and fast, so they aren't going to be able to just ignore you coming back."

"So? What?" Sam asked, his eyes darting between the bar and Dean. "We wait for them to do something?"

Dean shrugged. "Pretty much. Bobby's going to wait about ten minutes, then follow us in. They won't be expecting him."

"I don't know." His brother was skeptical. "They might have seen Bobby."

"I didn't say it was a perfect plan. But the three of us against them have to be good odds, right? Besides, I was kind of an ass the last time we were here, figured I owe you a drink, at least." He watched Sam carefully as the kid chewed it around a bit, recognizing the long overdue apology for what it was.

"Well," Sam offered his own absolution, an appreciative blush giving faint color to his face, "they did have to drug me first, and even then it took half the bar to bring me down."

A hint of bashful pride made Dean's chest swell for brother. Sammy was a tough cookie, that was for sure. Then he frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in a furrow. "Half the bar? You never mentioned that before."

"Didn't I?" Now it was Sam who frowned. "Sorry. I thought I did. But yeah, it's pretty fuzzy, but I remember that once I got outside there were other people there."

The older hunter didn't like that. To be honest, he wasn't keen on this plan to begin with. He hated using Sam as bait, and it was going to be a hell of a lot harder if the whole bar was against them. He'd actually been counting on the majority being indifferent. "Maybe we need to rethink this," he decided, thumbing Bobby's number on the cell, "call Joshua or someone else in to back us up—" His words were cut off when Sam made a horrible strangled sound. It might have been Dean's name. Following his brother's line of sight, Dean stiffened. "Or not."

Striding toward the car, their eyes firmly fixed on Sam, was the bitch and three big guys.

"9-1-1," was all Dean said when Bobby answered, knowing the older man would know to get his ass back here. Now. Then he dropped his phone, grabbed his Glock, and shoved open the driver's side door.

Showtime.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing back here?" Rachel sneered, her pretty face twisted into something truly ugly. "Are you stupid, too?"

Sam stiffened as he slowly pulled himself from the car and straightened up. His heart was pounding but he sucked in a breath and moved to stand next to his brother.

"_Stupid_?"

Dean's growl helped, and Sam focused on him.

"_Sam's_ not stupid. Now, messing with my brother? _That's _stupid." Dean barked a laugh, the gun coming up to point steadily at the group. "A death wish, actually."

Rachel didn't even look at Dean, her hateful glare centered on Sam. She opened her mouth, but Dean cut her off.

"_Don't_," Dean snarled, the Glock now singularly aimed at her. "Don't you even dare talk to him." She looked at him. "Reverse it," the incensed hunter demanded. "Reverse the damn spell."

Sam's mouth was dry, his body tense as he fought to keep from hyperventilating, but he'd die before he'd leave Dean alone. And he knew his brother would kill before letting them hurt Sam again. That helped, but not much. Not when the curse's potency threaded fear through his soul and squeezed with unnatural strength, suffocating his courage and unmasking his resolve. His fear was visceral and he fought every instinct for self-preservation to stand tall. And he did.

For Dean.

"Spell?" Her laugh could have cut glass. "We didn't put a spell on him. We_ cured_ him."

"Some cure." Bobby's voice made them jump as the seasoned hunter appeared soundlessly behind Sam's abductors. He pumped a big-assed shotgun for effect. "Sounds more like kidnapping and aggravated assault to me."

Dean was positively beaming now, obviously buoyed by the backup and the way a flicker of fear passed over Rachel's and her group's faces. "Let me tell you again. Reverse. The. Spell."

Sam's fingers twitched and he held his breath.

"Rach?" Tiny's voice held uncertainty.

The beautiful woman slowly turned to look at the new threat. Bobby's face was hard to read as he met the scrutiny.

"It's not worth dying for," Skinhead added, fidgeting nervously.

Rachel finally sighed dramatically and shrugged her shoulders, turning back to the Winchesters. "Fine," she huffed, her eyes back on Sam. "Whatever."

Sam traded a quick look with his brother. _Fine?_ That was it? He'd been expecting it to be a bit harder than that, and from the wary look on Dean's face, his brother had been thinking the same.

"Okay, then," Bobby prompted, "do it." He didn't seem concerned. That was reassuring.

"Yeah, well, c'mon," Dean tipped his chin, "get it done."

Sam tensed, not exactly sure what this was going to entail, as his memories of the original cursing were scattered at best. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he heard a growled, "Dude, breathe," and let it out in a wheezing huff.

Rachel started to move toward Sam; Dean stepped in front of him. She looked at Dean, finally realizing where the danger lay. "I need to touch him," she said, pointing at Sam.

Dean stiffened. Sam's heart pounded. Finally, Dean gave a curt nod, then added before she could move, "You hurt him or do anything I don't like, you won't even hear the shot that'll kill you. Understood?"

The woman gave the older Winchester a disbelieving look. "Are you for real?"

Something feral twisted Dean's features, and his low snarl sent chills down Sam's spine. "You really want to find out?"

"Rachel." Tiny sounded very nervous now. Even if she didn't take Dean seriously, it was very obvious that Sam's other tormentors did. "Just do it."

Sam's heart pounded so hard now, white spots danced across his vision as Rachel came to stand in front of him. The smell of her perfume made him nauseated, and he staggered back, pressing against the Impala. The world started to narrow down to a dimly lit shed…

"Sam?"

Dean's voice grounded him. "I-I'm all right." He forced himself to keep from recoiling when she reached out to touch the side of his forehead. Sam's chest stuttered with each breath as a hard shiver of panic tore through his body. Oh, God, he couldn't do this. He couldn't let her touch him again…

And then she did, her fingers a frigid stroke against his skin as words he didn't understand spun around him. He braced a trembling hand against the car, but still her fingers pressed against him, harder now like they were trying to drive through his skull. A sudden, searing bolt of pain wrenched a scream from his lips and he dropped heavily to his knees, his hands fisting against his head as he keened and rocked violently. Someone yelled something, but still the pain came, searing, intruding, until, just as abruptly as it had started, it stopped and his voice cut off in a muted whimper. _Oh, God_.

Slowly, he started to fold forward, his shaking body too clumsy to catch itself, too spent to respond.

Just before his face hit the gravel, someone grabbed him. Sam stiffened, expecting more pain as he was pulled back. But instead, he felt strength, gentleness, a heat pressing against his back that warmed instead of scalded as a murmured voice tickled his skin. Sam smiled, weak but relieved. _Dean_.

Call him a big girl, but Sam soaked in the comfort and leaned, just for a moment, against his brother, gasping and clutching at Dean as the last of the pain drained from him. He had missed this so much, this part of Dean that wasn't offered to just anyone, and had been missed and craved more than air.

"Sammy?" Dean's whisper ghosted the side of his face, concerned and questioning.

Gathering his strength and his senses, Sam gave a slight nod and started to push away from Dean, missing the contact almost immediately. They still had to take care of the witch and her friends.

His brother, ever perceptive in all things Sam, kept a supportive grip on his arm as he helped him to his feet, then waited a moment before letting go. Probably just to make sure Sam wasn't about to face-plant again…or maybe not. Sam didn't care; he needed it.

He turned to face the witch.

"Can we go now?" the woman asked as she moved back to stand with her friends. "The spell's broken."

* * *

Dean almost rolled his eyes. If she was lying, Dean would have known the instant he'd grabbed his brother. But after a brief stiffening, Sam had sagged back against him so hard, Dean had felt his eyes burn, shocked by how much he'd missed being able to touch his brother, to offer him that kind of support.

"No." It was his brother's voice, rough and weary sounding, that answered. "'S not good enough."

"Sammy?" Dean shifted closer, insanely pleased that he could.

"No, Dean," the younger man continued, staring at Rachel. "They'll just keep doing it. To someone else. Some other guy. I can't…" His resolve strengthened. "I _won't_ let that happen."

"We _were_ trying to help people," the woman insisted.

Dean snorted bitterly at her. "Yeah, some awesome bedside manner you got going there. Talk about a cure-'em-or–kill-'em solution. Excuse me if I never sign up for your support group."

"Dean." Sam's soft admonition had him narrowing his eyes but he shut up. It had been Sam they'd hurt, so he'd follow his brother's lead on this. "Source of power." Sam ignored the look. "Every witch has a source of power. Without it, they're harmless. A ring, a spell book…"

Sam's words tapered off, and Dean followed his brother's suddenly enlightened gaze, noticing that Rachel was fingering an odd-shaped stone on the end of a gold necklace chain. As he looked at it, the stone's color changed from black to red. _Ooh…_ His eyebrows rose.

"Or a crystal…" Sam amended.

"She ain't no witch," Gray Man said, shaking his head. "It was just a bit of hypnotism. That's all."

"Bullshit." Bobby snorted, then tipped his head toward Sam. "The kid's right. We want the necklace."

"Rachel?" Tiny leaned in close to the woman. "They right? You a witch?"

It never occurred to Dean that her three cohorts didn't know she'd been using witchcraft. He wondered if anyone else knew. Would the townspeople have been so quick to help her when they'd turned on Sam that night? "Of course she's a witch," he scoffed. "Now can we get on with this? Give me the damn necklace."

"And if I say no?" the woman challenged, ignoring her increasingly nervous friends.

"Then I get to kill you. Either way, lady, we get the rock." The coldness in Dean's voice had Sam glancing at him.

"Stop fooling around," Bobby interrupted, obviously worn by this. "I'm almost at the point of just shooting you for the hell of it, and _I'm_ the patient one."

It was actually Tiny who ended the standoff. Without waiting for permission, he yanked the chain, tearing it from Rachel's neck, and tossing it to Sam who quickly dropped it onto the ground, and ground his heel into it, shattering the fragile crystal.

The woman turned on her friend. "You stupid asshole!" she shrieked. "Do you know what you've just done!"

The three men were looking at her oddly, as if seeing her for the first time. Dean couldn't help but wonder if she had had them under some sort of spell as well. It would certainly explain their gullibility.

"Yeah." It was the Gray Man who answered. He looked disgusted as he shook his head. "Saving our asses." He looked from the Winchesters to Bobby. "Are we done now or do you still want to shoot us first?"

Tiny muttered an agreement, but Skinhead shifted uncomfortably as he looked at Sam.

"Sorry 'bout the hair, man," he offered, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. "I don't know what came over me. I don't even like hair. Baldness is beautiful."

Sam swallowed hard and gave a small nod in recognition of the apology.

"It'll grow back," Dean reminded his brother quietly.

Sam gave him an appreciative glance then cleared his throat. "It's okay." It wasn't really, but Dean let it slide. "You can…you can go." _For now_, he silently added, knowing the police were going to be getting an anonymous tip about all this. Well, minus the witchcraft crap of course.

The three guys were gone like a shot. Rachel turned to follow, her face dark with hatred, but Bobby grabbed her arm and yanked her to a stop. "Some friendly advice, lady," he growled. "You're walking away _this_ time. There won't be a next time, you hear me?"

For the first time, Dean saw genuine, unmasked fear on the woman's face. She finally got it. Finally. Looking at Dean and then at Sam nervously, she pulled her arm free and nodded. "Yeah, I get it." Then she hurried away.

As soon as she was gone, Dean felt Sam sag against his shoulder. He glanced at his brother. "Hell of a week, huh?"

Sam snorted wearily. "Can we just go now?"

"Sure." Dean grinned, nudging the solid shoulder next to him. Man, that felt good. "C'mon, I'll even let you choose where we stay tonight."

"I'm not picky, man." His brother smothered a yawn. "Anywhere with a bed'll be fine by me."

Bobby walked over to them, shouldering the shotgun and glancing around to make sure there were no prying eyes. "You boys heading back my way?" he asked.

"We never finished the roof," Sam commented on another yawn.

"Would you stop that?" Dean mirrored the action. "You're making me yawn!"

"Not sure I want Dean on my roof," Bobby commented, eyeing the older Winchester carefully.

"Hey," Dean grunted indignantly. Not that he was eager to get back on the roof, but he still had his pride. Geez, a guy falls off one roof…

"I could nail his feet down." Sam tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Or use super glue—"

"Not listening." Dean turned his back on them and yanked open the car door. "I'm leaving now."

"Bubblewrap could work—"

"This is me getting ready to drive away." He started the car.

"Bobby, do you have a bungee cord?"

That made him pause; that actually sounded like fun.

Then Sam was sliding into the passenger seat and giving him a full grin. "Thought you might like that one."

Man, his brother knew him way too well. "Shuddup," Dean snipped, then rolled down his window to say good-bye to Bobby. "We'll catch up with you tomorrow." He tipped his head toward his brother as Sam leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes with an exhausted sigh. "Kid needs a nap."

Sam didn't even open his eyes, just whacked him.

Dean grinned as he rubbed his arm and glared at his brother. "Ow."

"Baby."

"Bitch."

"Idjits." Bobby shook his head at them, then started walking back to his own car. "Drive safe," he called over his shoulder.

"He likes us," Dean crowed as he put the car into Drive.

"We've grown on him," Sam agreed, each word dragging with exhaustion.

"Yeah," the older man gloated, "like fungus."

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

"Shuddup."

The End


End file.
